


Cuckoo's Flight

by Emospritelet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cursed Storybrooke, F/M, First Time, Smut, really I just wanted it to be smut but they took a while to get around to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-13 19:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Dr Hopper has been acting strangely, but when he tells Belle French that she doesn't belong in the asylum, she doesn't wait around to find out why.  Storybrooke seems a strange and noisy place after her time locked away, but an unexpected meeting with the town's notorious landlord changes everything.  Set in cursed Storybrooke during S01xE01.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I intended this to be a one-shot smut fic, but the set-up was getting longer and longer, so I've split it into chapters. I reckon 5 in all.

She wasn’t sure how it had happened.

They’d been telling her she was mad for years, but she didn’t feel it.  Perhaps that was the drugs they kept her on, but she didn’t think so.  Besides, she had stopped taking those some time ago, pushing them into the side of her cheek and waiting until the severe nurse who brought them to her twice a day nodded and left, then stashing them under her mattress until she could slip them down the drain in the showers.  Coming off the meds had made her brain clearer, her thoughts more coherent.  It didn’t help with the dreams, but no one believed those anyway.  Perhaps she really _was_ mad.

She shook her head, walking quickly with her head bowed and her arms wrapped around herself, the cold air exhilarating on her skin after so long staring at the same four walls.  Dusk had fallen, and the streets were quiet, but she was still attracting some curious looks, dressed as she was, and she quickened her pace.  Dr Hopper had given her a bag with some clothes and shoes and some money, and told her she was free to go.  She still didn’t know why, and from the stricken look on his face, he wasn’t sure either.

“You don’t belong here, Belle,” he had said, when she asked him, and stood there opening and closing his mouth for a moment, as though he couldn’t understand why he’d said that.

She had run before he could change his mind, before the woman with the red lips and the wicked smile could come to peer at her through the hatch in her door like she was an exhibit in a freak show.  No one had stopped her, and she had slipped out of the hospital and made her way into town, not knowing where she would sleep that night, or the next.  One thing was certain, though.  She needed to get out of sight, and change out of the hospital gown which was all she had worn for as long as she could remember.  Once she looked less like an escaped hospital patient, she could see about getting something to eat, and a place to stay for the night.

The sound of harsh rock music caught her ear, and she hesitated for a moment, looking around.  Lights in the gathering dark, a red sign with a stylised white rabbit.   _The Rabbit Hole_ , it declared, and she wavered, shifting from foot to foot in the hospital-issue slippers.  They would have restrooms, she decided, and possibly something to eat and drink, and so she ducked inside, finding an empty corridor that smelt of cigarettes and stale beer.

The ladies’ room had three stalls, one of which had a broken lock, but she slipped into the middle one and sat down on the toilet seat, rummaging in the bag.  The clothes looked to be decent enough, a short grey dress with a thin black belt and black heels.  Frowning, she turned the dress over and over in her hands.  Part of her mind was telling her firmly that she had never worn something so short, but another part was insisting that she must have, and simply couldn’t remember it.  She shook her head, trying to recall how long it had been since her father had had her locked away.  She found that she couldn’t remember, and so she shrugged, and pawed through the bag to see what else there was.  Plain black underwear: a bra and panties in “small”, the box showing a smiling woman with more cleavage than she suspected the bra, which looked to be a simple pull-on halter with little support, would give her.  Still, she was used to going without, and she supposed Dr Hopper wouldn’t have known her size, so he couldn’t buy anything else but a simple set.  He’d done pretty well to guess at the rest, although the shoes, when she put them on, were a little loose, and she had to pull the straps tight.

She tugged up the dress and zipped it, belting it at the waist and smoothing it over her hips.  There was a roll of money in the bag, too.  Two hundred dollars, secured by an elastic band.  The dress had no pockets, of course, and she bit her lip in consternation, wondering where she could hide it.  She tried down the front of her dress, but the bra wasn’t tight enough to tuck it without it being obvious, and the neckline was so high she would have been scrabbling around every time she tried to reach it.  Eventually she lifted her skirt and slipped the roll into the waistband of her panties, just to the right of her left hip bone.  At least she could feel it there, and couldn’t see it when she looked down.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the stall door and stepped out, shoving the bag with the hospital gown, slippers and her used underwear into the trash.  She caught a glance at the mirror above the sink, and turned to look herself over properly.  The asylum had no mirrors, and she blinked, unused to her reflection.  Large blue eyes stared out of a pale face with high cheekbones, reddish-brown hair falling in waves around her shoulders.  The heels made her legs look long, and took some getting used to, but she could walk in them.  And she definitely didn’t look as though she’d just escaped from the hospital, so that had to be a plus.

The door opened then, a young woman entering and glancing at her curiously before crossing to the mirror.  She was taller, and thinner, dark hair falling in a shining sheet halfway down her back, a red shawl draped around her shoulders.

“Hey,” she said carelessly.

She fished a lipstick out of her purse, applying it in the mirror, bright red lips in a pale face.

“It’s pretty dead in there tonight,” she added.  “Sleazes being sleazes, no change there.  I might come back later, if Granny lets me out again.  It’s rent day, so she’s pissed.”

She blotted her lips with a tissue, turning around and grinning, and Belle swallowed.

“Could I - could I borrow that?” she asked, and the young woman’s grin widened.

“Sure!  Oh, wait…”  She rummaged in her purse.  “I think this colour might suit you better, it’s a little darker.  You want anything else?  I got perfume, deodorant, a little powder....”  She glanced up, dark eyes warm.  “I’m Ruby, by the way.”

Belle smiled.

* * *

Ten minutes later she was ready to leave, her hair teased up into a messy bun, tendrils curling at the nape of her neck, her lips the colour of claret and a light, floral perfume at her wrists and throat.  All courtesy of Ruby, who had seemed to enjoy making her up.  She had managed to think of a backstory for herself, and the lie had tasted surprisingly easy on her tongue.  Agoraphobia, she said.  Dr Hopper had been giving her therapy, and she was trying to ease her way back into town life, which meant that she was hardly ever out in Storybrooke during the day when it was busy.  Ruby was sympathetic.

“You’re in luck,” she said.  “There’s maybe six people in the bar right now, and believe me, you wouldn’t want to talk to any of them.”

“Dr Hopper said getting used to being in the same room as people is important,” said Belle, and Ruby shrugged.

“Nowhere lonelier than the Rabbit Hole, even when it’s full of people,” she said.  “Just ignore that asshole Keith if he tries to hit on you.  Or punch him in the balls, your call.  Good luck!”

She went out, swinging her hips, and Belle bit at her lower lip, glancing at her reflection in the mirror again.  She’d need something to eat, and a place to stay.  The first she could remedy here, at least.

She pushed open the bathroom door, walking out into the corridor, the sound of music louder.  Clenching and unclenching her fists uncertainly, she glanced at the door to the bar before lifting her chin and pushing it open.  The smell of stale beer was stronger in here, a few men standing near the flat screen TV, which appeared to be showing a football game.  Two more were shooting pool while another looked on.  The dark-haired, slightly paunchy barman was watching her, polishing a glass with a rag that looked as though it had seen better days.  She stepped forward, ignoring the looks she was getting, and slid onto a stool at the bar.

“Hey,” she said.  “You got any food here?”

“We got nachos,” he said.  “You want some?”

“Sure.”  She thought she could remember what nachos were like.  Eating something that wasn’t tasteless slop would make a change.  “And can I get a glass of wine?”

It had been something she had thought about, all that time in the asylum.  Given how many years she must have been in there, she didn’t think she’d ever drunk wine in her life, and yet it was as though she remembered it, the rich taste on her tongue, the heat as it went down.  The barman nodded and turned away to pour her a glass, setting it in front of her.  She took a sip, wrinkling her nose.  She hadn’t expected it to taste as sour as this, but perhaps she’d get used to it.  The mild heat was there, at least, warming her from within.

“Hey there.”

The sound of a deep voice made her look around, and she turned to see a dark-haired man smiling at her.  She supposed he was good-looking, the hair flopping over his forehead, his body tall and lean, but she recognised that she wasn’t really the best judge of these things.

“Not seen you in here before,” he went on.  “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Just got one, thanks,” she said, and sipped at her wine again, turning away.

“After that, then?” he persisted.  “I’m Keith, by the way.”

 _Ah, so this is Keith.  No thanks._  She ignored him, and he shifted closer.

“Are you gonna tell me your name, or do you want me to beg?” he asked.  “Because that’s not something I do.”

“Neither,” she said, not looking at him.  “And I’m just here for something to eat.”

He snorted.  “Seriously, you came _here_ for food?”

“Hey!” said the barman, looking affronted.

Keith shook his head.  “Look, babe, you don’t need to eat in this dive.  I can make you something back at my place, what do you say?”

“No, thank you.”  She wished he’d leave.

“Come on, I got frozen pizza, tater tots, you name it.”

 _What the bloody hell are tater tots?_ “No, thank you, I just want to drink my wine.”

“Girls don’t really come to this place alone,” he said, and leaned in, his eyebrows wiggling lasciviously.  “Not unless they’re after one thing, you know what I’m saying?”

She pulled away, wishing he’d leave, and casting a desperate glance at the seemingly-oblivious barman, her heart thumping with anxiety.  Keith took a step closer, making her want to shrink in on herself.

“You know, that dress isn’t bad, but it would look way better on my floor…”

There was a flash of gold at his throat, and he choked on his words, his eyes widening before he lurched away from her, stumbling back with his arms flailing.

“You really have a problem with the word ‘no’, don’t you?”

A calm voice, accented.  Belle looked around.  There was a second man there, short and slight, a gold-handled cane grounded in front of him.  He had hair that was longer than usual, brushing the collar of his suit jacket, and was glaring at Keith, who despite having the advantage in terms of both height and weight, was backing away, hands in the air.

“I - I didn’t see you there,” he babbled, and the man’s mouth twitched, a tiny smile.

“Well, of course not,” he said quietly.  A gold tooth gleamed on his lower jaw as he spoke.  “You were too busy pushing your unwanted attentions on this young woman.  I suggest you leave while I’m still feeling generous.”

He was Scottish, thought Belle, his evident displeasure making his accent seem stronger than it otherwise would.  His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but menacing, as was the look in his dark eyes.  Keith continued to back away, nodding hurriedly, and turned on his heel, making for the door.  The man allowed himself a brief grin, and turned to Belle.  His eyes flicked up and down her very briefly, and then he gestured to the barman.

“Whisky,” he said.  “And the rent, of course.”

“I - uh - yes, Mr Gold, coming right up.”

The barman scuttled off to grab a bottle, and Belle took another sip of her wine, eyeing the man as he waited for his drink.   _Mr Gold._  His hands were opening and closing on the handle of the cane, long fingers with smooth nails.  He wore a large gold ring set with a moonstone on the third finger of his right hand.  The suit looked as though it had been made for him, sleek and dark, and he had a black tie and a black and white checked shirt beneath it.  That looked a little odd to her eyes, as though it was laundry day, and he’d run out of decent shirts.  She imagined him in something darker.  His hair was brown, starting to grey at the temples, and she ran her gaze over his profile, high cheekbones and a long nose, his lower lip soft, almost sensual.  Deep brown eyes flicked across to her.

“See something you like?” he asked dryly, and she felt herself blush.

“Sorry, it’s just…”  She shook her head.  “Thank you.  I wasn’t sure how to get rid of him.”

“No matter.”

He reached for the glass of whisky that the barman set in front of him, and turned towards her slightly.  He shook back his hair, his eyes gleaming in the light, and she felt a tug of something at the back of her mind.  Almost like a memory.

“We don’t get strangers in this town,” he said eventually.  “What are you doing, sitting in this vile joint drinking terrible wine?”

The barman cleared his throat, looking offended, and Mr Gold gave him a flat stare.

“Rent,” he said curtly, and the barman swallowed and scurried off.

“I - I just got here,” said Belle lamely.

“I can see that, dear.”  He took a sip of the whisky.  “Doesn’t answer my question.”

“It’s…”  She cut off, trying to think of something to say. His eyes made her want to be honest, as though she instinctively knew that he could hear lies.  “It’s quiet, I guess.”

“Hmm.”  He looked amused.  “Well, that’s certainly true, although you’ll find it gets busier as the hour gets later and this town’s trolls slither out from under their bridges.”

The barman returned then, holding up a roll of money, which Mr Gold plucked from his fingers.  He set down his whisky glass and began counting out the money, sorting the bills into piles.

“You’re a landlord,” she observed, and he glanced across at her.

“Only one in town,” he said.  “Are you looking for a place to stay?”

“Maybe.”  She watched as he licked his thumb, separating the dollar bills.  “How much do you charge?”

“Well, that depends.”  He turned back towards her, settling back on one foot.  “What is it you want?”

The barman shuffled over at that point, setting a dish of nachos in front of her.  The scent of melted cheese made her mouth water, and she took a corn chip between finger and thumb, transferring it to her mouth.

“I mean apart from food with some nutritional value,” he said dryly.

“I was hungry,” she said, a little defensively.

“Apparently so, if you chose to eat here.”

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” she snapped, surprised by her own inner fire, and he smirked, a tiny, amused smile, as though he was not used to being spoken to in that way.

“I merely wanted to inform you that there are better places in Storybrooke to eat and drink, that’s all.”

Belle ignored him, and he turned back to counting the money the barman had given him.  Watching him out of the corner of her eyes, she slid a hand up her leg beneath the skirt of her dress to pull out the two hundred dollars she had stashed there.  Peeling off a twenty-dollar bill, she slid it across the bar to pay for her food and drink, and the barman gave her change, which she folded around the rest of the money and returned it to its hiding place just as Gold finished counting and turned back to her.  His eyebrow twitched, but otherwise he gave no sign that he had seen her slip money into her underwear.

“You’re paid up,” he informed the barman, his tone terse.  “Don’t be bloody late next time, do you understand?  I have a round, and a set routine, and I _hate_ having to go out of my way.”

The barman muttered something and slouched off, and Gold turned his attention back to Belle.

“So, you want something from me,” he said softly.  “Why don’t we sit and discuss it?  Perhaps I’ll be able to give you what you need.”


	2. Chapter 2

Mr Gold gestured to a table away from the bar, and Belle shrugged and picked up her wine and the plate of nachos.  She was surprised when he pulled out a chair for her, but took a seat, and he sat across from her with one hand folded over the handle of his cane.  Fingers drummed slowly on the side of his whisky glass as he watched her, and Belle wasn’t sure if he was making her uncomfortable or not.  She sensed that he was dangerous, but there was something else there, something that told her that he wouldn’t hurt her.

“Well,” he said quietly.  “Perhaps we should start with the basics.  What’s your name?”

She thought quickly.  Her name was known at the hospital, and until she was sure that Dr Hopper would vouch for her, and for his decision in releasing her, she didn’t want to make the job of taking her back any easier.  So she needed a name.

“Lacey,” she said, dragging up the first words that popped into her head.  “Lacey - um - Longbourn.”

She had a feeling he knew she was lying, but he nodded slowly.

“Very well, Lacey Longbourn,” he said, a slight twist to his mouth as he spoke the name.  “How is it that you’ve come to me?  Don’t you have anywhere else to go?”

“I - my father threw me out,” she said, which wasn’t a complete lie.  “He - he was controlling, and wouldn’t let me go out, wouldn’t let me see anyone…  He - he just wanted to keep me in the house, made me cook and clean, and I was sick of it!”

She straightened up, warming to her role, and Gold watched her closely.

“He told me that he knew best for me,” she added.  “That I couldn’t go to college and study, that a woman’s place was in the home caring for the men in her family.  I couldn’t bear it any longer, so I told him that I’d had enough and I was going to study whether he liked it or not.  He said that if I felt that way I wasn’t welcome in his house any longer, and - and so I left.  I’m gonna make a new life in this town, and it’s gonna be all mine.”

She nodded, as if to emphasise the point, and pulled a chip from the pile of nachos, strings of melted cheese stretching and snapping.  Gold pursed his lips a little, nodding slowly as he watched her.  His skin was lightly-tanned, and in the dim lights of the bar she could see the first hint of stubble just starting to show at his jawline.  She wondered how it would feel if he kissed her, whether it would be rough to the touch, scraping her skin, leaving her raw.  Her eyes widened at the unbidden thought and a blush rose in her cheeks.  He was pinning her with his gaze, his stare stripping everything from her, leaving her naked and breathless, and she could feel her pulse thumping high in her throat, throbbing deep in her groin.  She licked her lips.  His eyes followed the tip of her tongue as it swept across, then flicked back up to meet hers.

“Well, that’s a very heartwarming tale,” he said eventually, and took a sip of his whisky.  “A struggle against adversity, complete with a sheltered life and an overbearing father.  Almost like one of those turgid daytime movies I’ve had the displeasure of catching now and then.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he shrugged.

“Of course none of it was true, but let’s not allow accuracy to get in the way of a good story.”

Belle glared at him.  “If you’re suggesting that…”

“You’re one of Dr Hopper’s patients,” he interrupted, and her mouth snapped shut, her heart racing.  A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes glinting.

“Yes, I thought so,” he said softly.

“How...?”  She shook her head.  “How did you…?”

Gold smirked, sitting back a little.

“You have nothing but the clothes on your back,” he said.  “Not even so much as a purse, unless it’s become a trend for young women to carry their money in their underwear.”

She glowered at him, and he gestured at her, flicking a long finger up and down her form.

“And, more importantly, Dr Hopper purchased that dress and those shoes from my shop this afternoon,” he said.  “He looked a little strange, and I wondered why he wanted them, but I presumed his business was his own.  He has good taste.”  He showed his teeth.  “They suit you.”

Belle said nothing, waiting to hear what he intended to do with this information.

“Therefore I know that Dr Hopper bought clothes and that you’re now wearing them, carrying around what looks like a few hundred dollars in cash and hiding out in this cockroach-infested dump,” he said.  “So, the question is, did the good doctor release you, or did you cosh him over the head, steal his wallet and escape?”

Panic flared in her, and she sucked in air, glancing around hurriedly.  Gold held up a hand, palm outwards, making a calming motion.

“Please.”  His voice was soft.  “I didn’t mean to startle you.  Rest assured I have no plans to drive you over to the hospital and turn you in.”

“He let me go,” she said.  “Please, you have to believe me!”

She grasped at his hand in desperation, and he dropped his eyes to where her fingers clutched at him.  His skin was warm and smooth, and he glanced up at her, the light gleaming in his eyes.  She sucked in a breath and snatched her hand back as if burned, clasping it with the other in her lap and hunching her shoulders a little.

“Tell me what really happened,” he said quietly, and she hesitated.

“My - my father had me put in the asylum at the hospital,” she said, her voice unwilling.  Speaking the words made it real, made it seem less like a horrible dream.  “I don’t even know why, I - I don’t know how long ago.  Years, I guess.  They said - they said I was mad, but they never seemed interested in finding out why, or - or even telling me anything beyond that.”

“Why did they say you were mad?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “Delusions, they said.  I had - I had dreams.  Dreams that seemed real…”

She trailed off, meeting his eyes.  He was watching her intently, and she couldn’t understand why she trusted him, why she was telling him this.

“What sort of dreams?” he asked, and she let out a tiny laugh, shaking her head.

“Oh, crazy stuff, you name it.  Princes and princesses, and monster-hunting, and magic.  Dr Hopper said I have a very active imagination, and that it was my brain’s way of trying to make sense of the world.  Maybe trying to pretend I’m someone important, to give me a sense of control.  He says that’s not unusual when your freedom has been taken away.”

“And what do you think?” he asked.  Belle blinked.

“I - I’m not sure,” she said.  “I never dream that _I’m_ a princess, anyway.  I’m a maid, fetching tea and doing laundry, so no one important.  Or I sit in a huge library and read books of magic spells.”

“That sounds important to me,” he said.  “Knowledge is power, after all.”

“Maybe,” she admitted.  “But it’s not like I ever do anything with the magic, I just - read about it.  There was a sorcerer…”

She snapped her mouth shut, well aware that her tales of the sorcerer were rarely well-received by those at the asylum.  He was still watching her curiously, and she decided to change the subject a little.

“The dreams are always more vivid when the woman with the red lips comes,” she said.  “I - I thought maybe she was changing my meds at first, but then I stopped taking the meds anyway, and it still happened.  Perhaps she put something in my food, I don’t know.”

Gold frowned, brows drawing down.

“A woman with red lips?” he asked.  “Dark hair?”  Dark eyes?”

Belle nodded, seeing the woman’s gloating smile in her mind’s eye.

“She never says anything,” she added.  “Just looks through the hatch on my door and - and kind of _smirks_.  I don’t know who she is.  Not a doctor, I don’t think.”

“No,” he said coldly.  “No, she’s not.  That’s very interesting.  So I presume Dr Hopper gave you these clothes?  The money, too?”

She nodded.

“He let me go,” she whispered.  “He’s the only one that was ever kind to me, and he let me go.  He said I didn’t belong there.  Please.  Please don’t take me back.”

He was silent for a moment, sitting back once more.  His fingers flexed on the handle of the cane, light winking off the ring he wore.

“You seem sane enough to me,” he said eventually.  “As much as any of us are in this town.  Why don’t we see about getting you a bed for the night before anything else?”

She let herself sag a little with relief.

“And if you’re willing to leave that refuse here, I can get you something decent to eat,” he added, and Belle hesitated.

“I - I don’t really want to be around too many people right now,” she said awkwardly.  “Could we - could we maybe go somewhere quiet?”

He ran a hand over his chin, finger drawing across his upper lip as he appeared to think it over.

“I was planning on finishing my rounds,” he said.  “There’s only the inn to do, and I thought we could kill two birds with one stone, but if it’s peace and quiet you’re looking for, that can wait until tomorrow.  No doubt Mrs Lucas will be pleased about the extra day to scrape her rent together.”

She wasn’t sure what to say about that, but he raised an eyebrow at her, gesturing to the plate of nachos and the half-drunk wine.

“Leave that here,” he said.  “If you’re ready?”

Nodding, she pushed back her chair, and he got to his feet, knuckles tightening over the cane handle as he stood.  She followed him out, the door squeaking as it swung shut behind them, and she shivered a little in the cold night air.  Gold’s mouth flattened, and he shrugged off his jacket, putting it around her shoulders.  She smiled her thanks, and he nodded curtly, setting off down the street without waiting for her to follow, his use of the cane explained by his pronounced limp.  She wondered how he had injured himself.  He seemed to move well enough in spite of it, a fluid, uneven stride carrying him along with surprising speed, and she had to trot to keep up.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, and he gave her a brief glance over his shoulder.

“Firstly, I thought you might like to see a potential apartment I could offer you,” he said.  “Only one bedroom, but it’s neat, and very quiet.  You won’t be disturbed by neighbours.”

“Oh.”  Well, that sounded perfect.

She followed him down the street, and he looked from left to right before turning the corner, his hair caught and tossed by the breeze.  They seemed to have reached the main street of Storybrooke, people hurrying along in the dark of the evening, cars rumbling past, and she glanced around, trying to take it all in.  A yellow Volkswagen was parked on the road, bright and cheerful against the drab colours of the other cars, and Gold paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked it over.  Whatever he was thinking, he said nothing, and continued along the street.

Bright lights shone out from a diner, the sound of laughter and the clinking of plates harsh in her ears, and she shrank in on herself a little as she saw the numbers of people crowded around tables.  Gold didn’t stop, and she heaved a sigh of relief as she followed him across the road to a tall building with a clock tower at the top.   _Storybrooke Free Public Library_ , it said above the double doors.  Interest piqued, she stood close by his shoulder as he unlocked the doors with a large set of keys, catching a whiff of his cologne.  He flicked his eyes across to hers as he opened one of the doors, and spread a hand, inviting her to enter.

Belle stepped inside, shoes echoing on the wooden floor, and heard him close and lock the doors behind them.  It should have made her uncomfortable, being locked in a room with a man she had only just met, but it didn’t.  He was silhouetted against the glass of the doors, the glow of the streetlights shining in and catching in his hair, a halo of pale gold around his shadowed form.

“Welcome to the library,” he said, and his voice was a little rougher, his accent thicker.  She tugged his jacket around herself, shivering slightly as she looked around.  The place was dark, and what looked like empty racks of shelving loomed in the shadows.  The room had a lonely, empty feel, as though it was long abandoned, a chill in the air and the scent of dust in her nose.

“There are no books,” she observed, and he shrugged, a brief rise and fall of one shoulder.

“It’s been closed for as long as I can remember.  Perhaps one day it’ll open again, given the right amount of effort.”

“What…”  She cut off, licking her lips.  “What are we doing here?”

He took a step towards her, his cane tapping on the floor, the low light flickering over his nose and cheekbones as he moved.

“There’s an apartment, on the upper floor,” he said.  “It used to belong to the caretaker.”

“Oh.”

She turned away, towards the darkness behind her, and he walked past her, reaching behind a shining wooden circulation desk and flicking a switch.  A light came on behind him, flooding out and easing her fears.

“If you’d like to follow me,” he said.

She trotted over, watching him as he stepped through a glass door to a flight of narrow stairs.  A second door was at the end of a corridor, and she suspected it led out into the street.  She wondered if the apartment could be accessed that way, too.  Gold was already climbing the stairs, and she followed him up, watching his rear move in the suit pants.  He turned on a light at the top, and she heard the sound of a key in a lock.  He was waiting for her, his hand on the door handle, and pushed it open into darkness, reaching to find the light switch.

Belle walked past him into a compact, but pleasant apartment.  There was a tiny kitchen off to the left, with a table and two chairs.  A lounge with a dust-covered couch and coffee table, and empty bookshelves along the wall.  Corner windows looked out on the night sky.

“Bathroom and bedroom are off to the right,” he said, and she went to look, noting that there was a shower and bath, an ancient water heater on the wall above.  The bedroom was neat and well laid out, with a queen bed, nightstand, drawers and a closet.  It was more space than she could ever remember seeing.

“It’s great,” she said truthfully, and a brief smile flickered across his face.

“Well, if you want to take it, we can discuss terms in the morning,” he said.  “The place will need a clean before it’s ready to move into, of course.”

“I don’t mind that.”  She stood, looking around.  “I think I could be happy here.”

“Excellent.”

He was watching her closely, and she was suddenly very aware that she was alone in an apartment that had been abandoned for what looked like years, and that despite his short stature, he could easily overpower her if he wanted to.  And yet she didn’t fear him.  She watched him breathe, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the shirt, and she wondered how he looked beneath it, whether he would be firm and smooth and hot to the touch.

She swallowed hard, grateful for the dim light hiding her blush, and for his lack of ability to read minds.  It was new, this feeling of desire.  Oh, she had had erotic dreams before, strange, fantastical dreams of a man with scales for skin, green and grey and burnished gold.  A man with long black fingernails and soft lips, who whispered to her in the depths of her slumber.  She had awoken from those dreams flushed and gasping, her hand reaching between her legs to relieve herself.  Mr Gold was making her feel that way, with his dark eyes that knew too much, and his long fingers that caressed the handle of his cane as though it were the soft skin of a lover.

“Well, Miss Longbourn.”

She started at the sound of his voice, confused for a moment before she remembered the name she had given, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“I promised you something to eat,” he added.  “If the apartment is to your liking, we can go through the formalities tomorrow.  Would you please follow me?”

“Not the diner,” she began.  “I don’t think I could…”

“Not the diner,” he confirmed, smiling a little.  “If you please?”

She followed him back down the stairs, and watched as he locked the double doors behind them.  They walked a little further down the street, to where a large black car sat, its heavy doors shining in the light from the streetlamps.  He opened the passenger door for her, and she slid onto the leather seat, pulling the belt around herself as he got in the other side.  The engine started with a throaty purr, and he pulled away from the side of the road, turning the car around and driving out of town. The journey was short, and after a few minutes they pulled up outside a large Victorian, a lone light shining on the porch, the garden a dark mass of bushes.  Gold got out first, and Belle looked around curiously as he opened the door and helped her to her feet with a hand on hers.

“Where are we?” she asked, and he raised a brow.

“This is my house.”


	3. Chapter 3

Belle felt a tiny surge of adrenaline as he guided her up the path with a warm hand on the small of her back.  The street was empty of people, no one to see her enter, and again she wondered at how safe she felt in his presence, as though she trusted him.  He let them inside, and she stepped into a wide hallway, the low, heavy tick of a clock the only sound.  Gold turned on the lights, and she blinked, her eyes unused to it.  The interior was a dusky pink colour, with a carved wooden banister, the staircase turning on its way up to the next floor.

She wondered if he lived alone, and almost before the thought had formed, she knew it to be true.  Surprising, that she could recognise the need to be alone in others, having been so starved for contact herself.  Solitude rolled off him in waves, the calm, comfortable loneliness that came from self-imposed isolation.  She imagined that he didn’t have close relationships with anyone, and it made her wonder why he had chosen to let her in, even to this small extent.

Gold let her through to the kitchen, and her eyes widened as she looked around.  The room was clean and modern, a table and four chairs next to the kitchen counters, shining appliances ready and waiting to be used.

“Have a seat,” he said.  “I’m going to have a glass of wine.  A proper glass, not that swill they serve at the bar.  Would you like one?”

She nodded, still looking over the place, and he took a corkscrew from a drawer and a bottle of red wine from the wooden rack between two cupboards.  Belle slid into a chair as he opened the wine with a practised twist of his wrist and a dull pop.  She watched him pour into two large glasses, the wine flowing in a dark red stream, and she nodded her thanks as he set a glass in front of her.  She sniffed at the wine, half-expecting the sourness she had experienced earlier in the bar, but this was very different.  It was fruity, rich and heady, and she took a sip, the flavours of blackberries and cherries and a hint of spice bursting on her tongue.   _This_ was how she had imagined wine would taste.  The heat was there too, warming her, sinking down her throat to spread throughout her body, and she took off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair.

Gold took a sip of his own wine and went to the fridge, rummaging around for a moment before taking out a plastic tub of something and holding it up.

“I made lamb stew a couple of days ago,” he said.  “Should be enough for two.  It just needs heating through.  Is that alright?”

She nodded, trying to remember the taste of lamb.  The hospital food was salty and somehow flavourless, eaten with plastic spoons that she had been told were handed out because they couldn’t be used as weapons, not that she remembered ever attacking anyone in her life.  She watched as he boiled water in a pan and set a steamer insert on top, chopping potatoes into chunks and dropping them in before putting on a lid.  The stew went into another pan, and Gold took a mouthful of wine, stirring with a wooden spoon.  The light gleamed on his hair as he worked, and the delicious, savoury scent of rich lamb, garlic and rosemary began to drift into her nose.  She had almost forgotten how good food could smell.

There was silence as he moved around the kitchen, other than the clunk of a spoon against the pan, or a mutter from him as he tasted something.  She was content to sit back and let him get on with it, too unsure of herself to offer to help, even if she had known what to do.  He mashed the seasoned potatoes with butter and milk, and her mouth watered as he set a plate in front of her, cubes of tender meat and vegetables, fragrant with herbs, the rich dark sauce glistening next to the pile of fluffy mashed potatoes.  He sat down opposite, refilling their glasses, and took a bite of the lamb, chewing as he watched her.  She breathed in the savoury aroma, and he gestured with a fork.

“I haven’t poisoned that,” he said dryly, and she blushed, picking up her cutlery.

The stew was delicious, the meat wonderfully tender, and the first mouthful caused her to make a noise that was almost obscene.  He smirked, raising an eyebrow, and she took another bite.

“That’s _so_ good,” she said thickly, and his smile widened.

“Take your time,” he said.  “You’re probably not used to it if you’ve been in the hospital for a while.”

She thought he was right, and so she tried to slow her pace, but she still cleared her plate before he did.  She offered to clear up when they were finished, but he had a dishwasher, and so she found herself being escorted through to a comfortable lounge, filled with antique furniture, a fire burning low in the grate and a clock ticking on the wall.  There were bookshelves stuffed full, and she itched to study them, but he gestured to the couch, and she sat down, hands cradling her wineglass, the alcohol just starting to go to her head a little.  There was an oak china cabinet in the alcove near the bay window, its shelves filled with porcelain vases and decorative plates, and she ran her eyes over what looked like part of an old tea set.  A pot and two cups and saucers, white with a delicate blue flower pattern.  One cup had a chip in the rim, and she was surprised that it was on show.  Gold put some more wood on the fire, tiny flames licking hungrily around the logs as he lowered himself onto the couch next to her.

“You have such nice things,” she said, looking around, and he shrugged.

“I’m a dealer in antiquities,” he said.  “I own a shop in town, and a lot of the pieces that aren’t there are kept here.  I like beautiful objects, you see.  Precious things.  Sometimes I even plan to let them go, and yet they end up staying.”

“If you enjoy them, and they make you happy, there’s nothing wrong with that,” she said.  “I think - I think that it would be worse to keep them locked away, don’t you?  To hide them away where no one else can see them.”

“Yes,” he said quietly.  “Yes, I think that would be a terrible tragedy.”

He sipped his wine, watching her over the rim of his glass.  The fire crackled and snapped, warm reddish light flickering over his face and highlighting his cheekbones.  She felt that low-down tug again, and licked her lips.  He was still staring at her, but then he looked away.

“We can go over the rental agreement in the morning,” he said.  “You’ll need a job if you want to pay rent and feed yourself.  Any thoughts?”

“I - no.”  She looked down at her glass, the wine rippling.  “I hadn’t thought.  But - but I’m sure I could find something!  If - well, if…”

“If Dr Hopper doesn’t decide that he regrets his decision to let you go,” he finished, and she cringed a little.  There was silence for a moment.  She could see his fingers drumming slowly on the side of his glass.

“I take it you’re literate,” he said.  “Numerate?  Could you do stock-taking, for example?”

She looked up.

“Oh, yes!” she said eagerly.  “I learned to read when I was three!  And I used to help my father with his business, before - well, before I went to the hospital.  I’m sure I could pick things up quickly, if there’s a job out there.”

He nodded.

“I might be able to find you something,” he said.  “We can discuss it in the morning.  You must be tired.”

She was too nervous to be tired, but he drained his glass and stood up, shifting the cane to keep his balance.

“I’ll show you to your room,” he said, and she blinked.

“My - my room?” she asked, her voice suddenly high and anxious.

“Well, the apartment isn’t fit for sleeping in tonight, and I wasn’t about to let you sleep on the couch,” he said dryly.  “I assure you that I have no evil intent, Miss Longbourn.  You’re quite safe here.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean…”  She snapped her mouth shut, and he looked amused.  “I wasn’t - you’ve been very kind,” she added lamely.

“Yes, well, don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to maintain.”  He put his head to the side.  “Are you done with the wine, or would you like a little more?”

“I - no, no thank you.”

She drained her glass, setting it on the coffee table, and stood up.  Gold nodded.

“This way,” he said, and walked out, mounting the stairs.  She followed him up to the landing, and he paused outside a door, opening it up and switching on a light.

“The spare room,” he said.  “I can give you something to wear.  Bathroom’s across the landing.  You can shower, if you like.”

Belle stepped inside, looking around.  It was a spacious, pleasant room a bay window looking out on the dark woods behind.  A large, heavy wooden bed with carved posts was made up with white sheets, a red blanket over the top.  She glanced across at him.

“What about you?” she asked, and he looked at her steadily.

“My room’s at the end,” he said.  “I have an en-suite, so I won’t need to disturb you.”

“Thank you,” she said.  “For everything.  You didn’t have to help me.”

“I know.”

“So…”  She floundered, unsure what she wanted to say.  “I mean, don’t think I’m not grateful, I just don’t understand why.  Why you would.”

Gold hesitated, and if it had been anyone else she would have thought he seemed unsure of himself.  It was the first time she had seen him look uncertain.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.  “It just…”  He lifted a hand, twisting his fingers before letting his arm fall again, his mouth flattening.

“...feels right,” she finished, and he nodded, his eyes flicking back to hers.

“Yes.”

There was silence again, and she could feel a strange, heavy atmosphere building, as though a storm was coming.  As though sparks were dancing in the air around them, crackling over her skin, the tension stealing her breath.  Gold blinked, looking away and breaking the spell.

“Let me get you something to wear,” he said quietly, and walked out, leaving her with flushed cheeks and a dry mouth and unfamiliar, rising desire.

He brought her a T-shirt, and a pair of blue plaid cotton pants, and she held them in her hands for a moment, unsure what to do.  Gold looked hesitant, his fingers opening and closing around the handle of his cane.

“Right,” he said.  “Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.  Sleep well, Miss Longbourn.”

She was beginning to regret giving him a false name.  It sounded strange and jarring in her ears, and she wanted to hear him speak her true name, to hear his mouth caress it and let it fall from his tongue.  She nodded mutely, and he turned on his heel, leaving her alone.

“Goodnight!” she called, after he had gone, and hoped he had heard.

Putting the clothes on the bed, she decided to take a shower, and so she went into the bathroom and locked the door.  The shower gel smelled of herbs, clean and fresh, and it felt good to stand under the torrent of hot water and scrub the hospital from her skin.  She washed her hair too, fingers scraping at her scalp until her skin tingled, and by the time she got out and wrapped herself in thick grey towels, she felt much better.

The house was quiet when she opened the door and peered into the corridor, and she hurried back to her room and shut the door, using the towels to dry her hair before pulling on the T-shirt and pants.  There was a brush in the drawer of the dresser, and she sat in front of the mirror, untangling her hair with careful strokes until it was soft and shining.  She watched her reflection, her eyes dark in the lamplight, her belly still tight with that crawling, tugging feeling.  She set down the brush, taking a deep breath and telling herself to get a grip.  It was excitement at being freed, at being out in the world again.  The surge of attraction for Gold was her body’s response to someone showing her kindness, when all she could remember from the staff at the asylum was at best indifference, and at worst cruelty.  But Gold had been kind.  He had saved her from the unwanted attentions of Keith, and had given her food and wine and a safe place to stay.  It was natural that she would respond to that.  It meant nothing.

She flicked off the light, getting in between the cool cotton sheets of the bed, and lay back with her hands behind her head, trying to relax.  Her skin was humming, her heart thudding in her chest, and after ten minutes or so she threw back the covers with a sigh.  He had books.  Perhaps she could lose herself in one of those and take her mind off his eyes and his tiny smiles and the way his hands moved.

She slipped out of bed, opening the bedroom door as quietly as she could and padding downstairs.  The lamps were still lit, and for a moment she paused on her toes, wondering where he was.  She heard nothing, though, and so she continued on her way, feet silent on the wooden floors.  The fire in the lounge had burnt down, the embers glowing red, and the room was empty, so she trotted over to the bookshelves, running her eyes over what was stacked there.  He had a mix of classic and modern authors, Shakespeare, poetry, and even non-fiction books on history and politics.   She mouthed the titles, finger stroking over the spines and hooking over the top of a leather-bound book of fairy tales.  It came free from the surrounding books with a low, whispery sound.

“There are more in my study.”

Gold’s voice made her jump, and she dropped the book.  It landed between her feet with a dull thump, and she dropped to her knees just as he did, their hands reaching for it and touching briefly before jerking back.  Her heart was pounding, her breath coming hard in her throat, and she licked her lips.  He had taken off his tie and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt, and she ran her eyes up his chest and over the warm skin of his throat.  His pulse throbbed beneath his skin, and she felt an urge to lick it, to run her tongue over him and feel the scrape of new stubble against her.  She raised her eyes to his, and they were fathom-deep, ocean-deep, dark as the night and filled with a hunger that made her breathless.

“I’m sorry if I startled you, Miss Longbourn,” he said quietly, and she noticed that his accent had thickened a little.  She wondered what he was doing here, so far from home.  Perhaps he felt as lost and lonely as she.  The thought made her want to be honest with him, to strip herself bare and hold nothing back.

“My - my name’s not Lacey Longbourn,” she whispered, and he smiled.

“Yes, I know.”

“You _know?_ ”  She frowned at him, and his grin widened, the gold tooth gleaming.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said softly, and she dropped her eyes.

“Oh.”

“Which is no bad thing, really,” he added.  “Besides, I presumed you had your own reasons for using a false name.”

“Yeah.”  She looked up again.  “I - I wasn’t sure if I could trust you at first.”

He gave her a wry smile.

“Well, given my reputation in this town, I won’t bother telling you that you can,” he said.  “But I certainly mean you no harm.”

“I believe you,” she said truthfully, and his lips twitched.

He reached out, his hand brushing over her cheek, thumb stroking over her lower lip, and she sucked in a breath, his touch burning her.  He pulled back immediately, eyes widening.

“Sorry,” he whispered.  “I’m - I’m sorry, I have no idea why I just did that.”

Looking discomfited, he straightened up, holding out a hand to help her to her feet, and Belle clutched the book to her chest.  He was having difficulty in making eye contact with her again, and she ached to reassure him, to tell him that she had wanted him to touch her.  Her tongue seemed to have swollen and stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she tried to peel it free.

“So.”  He grounded his cane, his eyes flicking across to her before looking away again.  “What’s your name?”

“Belle,” she said.  “Belle French.”

“You’re Moe French’s daughter?”  His voice had hardened a little.  “I see.  I thought he was an unreliable tenant, I didn’t realise he’d locked away his own child.”

She bowed her head, hunching her shoulders a little, and he clicked his tongue.

“Still, none of my business,” he said.  “Enjoy the book, Miss French, and feel free to borrow as many as you like.”

“Thank you.”  She hugged the book a little tighter.  “Goodnight, Mr Gold.”

She took one step away from him, then another, and then it was easier to move, to breathe.  Heart thumping, she hurried upstairs, pushing her bedroom door shut with a click and leaning back against it for a moment to compose herself.   _He touched me.  Touched my cheek like I was beautiful and precious.  Touched my lip like he wanted to kiss me._

Sucking in a breath, she pushed away from the door, turning on the bedside lamp and getting back into bed with her book.  Half an hour later, she heard him come up the stairs, the tap of his cane on the wooden treads somehow comforting.  Floorboards squeaked a little as he passed her door on the way to his own room, and for a moment she sat with her hands on the pages of the book, listening.  He didn’t pass by again, and she assumed that he had gone to bed.

As beautifully-illustrated as the book was, she couldn’t concentrate on it.  The stories of princesses sighing over dashing rescuers didn’t hold her interest, and she found herself drawn to darker tales of cunning sorcerers and dark magic.  That only made her think of Gold, for reasons she couldn’t explain, and so eventually she put the book aside, hoping to sleep.  Darkness closed in on her when she turned off the light, and she lay there, listening to the sound of her breathing and wondering if he was also awake.  He had touched her.  He had been surprised by wanting to, as though it was something he couldn’t explain.  As though he was drawn to her, as she was to him.

Shaking her head, she threw back the covers for the second time that evening, and bounced out of bed, her breathing unsteady. _Do the brave thing._  The worst that could happen was that she would make a fool of herself, but she had spent years with everyone around her telling her she was mad.  Embarrassment didn’t have the same effect as it once might have.

Mind made up, she opened the bedroom door, staring down the darkened corridor to the door at the end.  His room.  The first step was hesitant, but she kept going, toes splaying on the cool wood.  Her hand shook a little as she reached for the handle, but she turned it and pushed open the door into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Belle slipped inside, heart racing, and closed the door behind her.  The room was cool, but there was an undercurrent of warmth there too.   _His_ presence, saturating the air, wrapping around her and making it hard to breathe.  She could smell his scent, cedarwood and spice and musk, and felt a pull in her abdomen, a throb between her legs.  Faint moonlight shone through the curtains, strips of pale light giving just enough illumination to pick out the heavy outline of the bed.  A rustle of bedclothes made her breath catch.

“Miss French?”

His voice was calm, and she was drawn towards it, walking to him without thinking and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Are you unwell?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“No,” she said.  “At least - no, I’m not unwell.  I just…”

She bit her lip, swallowing what she had been about to say.   _I need you.  I want you.  Touch me again._

Her eyes were used to the dim light, and she could see his face, moonlight gleaming on his skin and turning his features sharper, more angular, his cheekbones softened by the rumpled waves of his hair.  His torso was naked and smooth, the nipples dark blots on paler skin, and she could hear him breathing, could see the rise and fall of his thin chest, the shadowed hollow at the base of his throat.

“What is it?” he whispered, and she chewed her lower lip.

“You - you touched me,” she said.  “And - and you said you didn’t know why.”

He ducked his head.  “Forgive me,” he said quietly.  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, or to feel unsafe. I swear.”

“No!”  She shook her head.  “I didn’t - I mean, it felt nice.  I wanted you to.  I can’t explain it…”

He raised his eyes to hers, and she licked her lips.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice a low rasp.

“Touch me again,” she whispered.

He stared at her for a moment, his breath quickening a little, then reached up with a gentle hand to cup her cheek.  His thumb swept across her skin, and over the swell of her lower lip, and then the hand moved, sliding around, his fingers pushing into her hair, making her shiver.

“Your eyes,” he whispered, and she felt her brow furrow.

“What?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.  “It’s like - like a dream I can’t quite remember.”

“Yes!” she breathed.  “Yes, I understand!”

She shifted closer to him, and he reached up with the other hand, cradling her head as she leaned in.  She could smell him, a male, musky scent with a hint of the cologne he wore.  He was very close, and she could feel his cool breath on her face, his nose almost touching hers.  His fingers were brushing the nape of her neck, tangling in her hair, and she could feel her heart thumping in her chest, her lips parted, her breathing rapid and shallow.  His pressed his forehead to hers, his breath whispering over her lips and into her mouth, and she let out a tiny moan as he kissed her, his lips soft and warm.  His fingers tightened a little, and he parted her lips with his tongue, a low, rumbling sound vibrating up from deep in his chest as she felt his tongue stroke against hers, delicately probing her mouth.

Her hands were hesitant, reaching out to touch the cool skin of his shoulders before sliding up to push through his hair.  It was soft, slipping through her fingers and releasing more of his scent, and she moaned again, scooting closer, pressing herself against him as his arms went around her.  The kiss deepened, their lips growing wet, his stubble scratching at her skin, and he pulled his mouth from hers and kissed down her neck, sending shivers through her, making her clutch at him.  The clothes she was wearing seemed too much, too thick, and she wanted him to take them from her, to peel them from her skin so that there was nothing between them.  His hand brushed over her hip, sliding beneath the hem of the T-shirt and over her skin, and she gasped at the feel of it.

“Take it off!” she whispered.

He pulled back, his breathing hard and rapid, his mouth open.

“Belle!” he breathed.  “Are you..?”

“Please!” she interrupted.  “Please, I need you to touch me!”

Slipping his hands underneath the T-shirt, he pushed it up her body, and Belle raised her arms so that he could pull it over her head and throw it aside.  She put her arms down again, and his eyes dropped to her breasts, her skin pale blue in the moonlight.  His hands shook a little as he cupped her, gently squeezing, and she moaned as he bent his head to press soft kisses across her chest, his lips pulling at her skin.  His mouth fastened over her nipple, his tongue stroking her, and she let out a hum of pleasure as her fingers swept through his hair.

Gold growled a little against her skin, kissing back up her chest to her neck, his tongue finding her pulse, tracing wet circles over it and making her throw back her head with a moan of pleasure as sensations shot through her.  His hands dropped to her waist, their grip tightening, and he lifted her up off the bed and rolled, laying her down on the blankets and slipping his legs out of bed to lie against her.  His teeth nipped at her neck, making her groan, and she wanted more from him, wanted him to kiss down over her breasts and belly, to touch her between the legs, where she knew she was wet.  He began to kiss her chest, his mouth suckling at her nipples, his hair brushing against her, and she felt jolts of sensation shoot through her, making her groin throb and her body shudder.  His hand cupped her breast, his tongue scraping over her nipple, and she arched her back with a moan, stretching her arms above her head on the cool cotton of the pillows.

She felt his hand on her belly, the palm warm against her skin, rising and falling with her breath.  He slid his fingers down, beneath the waistband of the cotton pants she wore, feeling between her legs, and she moaned as he touched her, stroking her tender flesh, spreading the fluids that had formed there.  He let out a low groan of pleasure, and sucked at her nipple, leaving it hard and glistening as he let it fall from his mouth.  Rising up on his knees, he slipped his hand back out and moved, kneeling between her legs, the heels of his hands pressed into the bed as he leaned forward.  The moonlight was gleaming on his skin, cornflower blue highlights and midnight shadows defining the slender muscles of his shoulders and arms and the planes of his chest and stomach.  His features seemed more angular, his eyes two specks of light in the darkness, and for a moment she thought him an imp, a dark creature from her stories, from her dreams.  It did nothing to quell her need for him, and she lifted her head as he bent to kiss her, moaning at the touch of his lips.

Pulling back, he sat back on his heels, long fingers plucking at the tie of her pants and pulling it open.  He hooked his fingers over the waistband and backed down the bed, gently drawing them down over her hips and off at her feet, until she was fully naked.  She should have felt vulnerable, exposed, out of control, and it was surprising to realise that she felt as though this was where she was meant to be.  As though she trusted him completely.  As though she knew him.

He took a moment to run his eyes over her, and his breathing was heavy and rapid, his hands trembling a little as he slid them up her legs.  He bent to press kisses to her, shuffling forwards, his mouth trailing upwards over her inner thighs, and she felt his tongue flicker out, gently stroking over her skin, running along the crease at the top of her leg.  Her breathing hardened as she reached above herself, hands gripping the carved wooden headboard, and she cried out as his tongue touched her, sweeping through her flesh, soft and wet and stroking.  She pulled her knees up a little, allowing him more access, moaning as his tongue circled, flickering over the most sensitive parts, pushing inside her.

His hair was so soft against her, tickling the inside of her thighs, and she could feel his stubble scrape her delicate skin, the friction adding to the sensation.  She thought she might burst, her insides twisting and pulling and her pulse throbbing in her throat, her groin.  He had settled into a rhythm, his tongue circling, low groans rumbling up from his chest and vibrating through her body, and then she felt a finger, pushing at her entrance, sliding in to sit inside her as he licked.  The sensation made her gasp and writhe, and his tongue flickered, drawing her up, tight and breathless, as taut as a coiled spring.  She could feel her climax coming, and she whimpered, almost panting, as his finger pressed deeper and his tongue fluttered over her and heat rose in her cheeks like fire.

She came with a wail, her body jerking at the feel of it, sensations running through her, tingling and fizzing as he groaned in pleasure and licked at her.  She was gasping for breath, her throat dry and her heart pounding, tiny cries still coming from her, and when it was over she let go of the headboard and collapsed down in the bed, heaving deep breaths, her entire body humming with sensations.

He drew out the finger, kissing her gently, and she felt him move, hands splayed on the blankets either side of her as he made his way up the bed.  She felt him then, pressed against her thigh, hot and hard, and her eyelids fluttered and opened.  He was staring down at her, his hair a mess, face sticky with her juices and his breathing hard and raw, and she reached up to cup his cheek, her fingers pushing into the damp strands of his hair.

“Thank you,” she whispered.  “That was incredible.”

He swallowed then, tongue wetting his lips briefly, and looked unsure of himself.  She reached between them, grasping the hard length of him, surprised by its heat, its smoothness.  His jaw tightened, a tiny groan coming from him, and she nodded.

“Yes!” she breathed.  “I want this.  I want _you_.”

He wiped a hand over his face to clear the stickiness, bending to kiss her, and she wrinkled her nose at the taste of herself on his lips, an unfamiliar flavour.  Fingers sticky with her juices pushed through her hair, and his mouth trailed down to her neck as he lowered himself onto her.  He found her pulse point, and she moaned as his tongue swirled over it, circling and sucking and making her shiver.  She could feel him against her leg, and she lifted her knees so that he was pressed up against her, making him growl.  One hand slid down between them, pulling her legs apart a little more, gripping his cock and positioning it at her entrance, and he gasped against her neck, pushing upwards on his elbows to look down at her.

Her heart was thumping at feeling him there, smooth and hard and hot, and he moved his hips a little, letting the head push inside her just a little way, his jaw tightening.  It felt strange, but also right, having him inside her, and she wanted more.  He slid in a little more, tendons standing out in his neck, and she reached up to touch his face, the tip of her tongue sweeping out to wet her lips as he kissed her fingertips.

“Alright?” he gasped, and she nodded.

He pushed in a little further, and she could tell that he was trying to be careful, trying not to hurt her, but she wanted all of him, and she parted her knees a little more, her thighs rubbing against his hips.

“Oh, God, Belle!”  His voice sounded almost anguished.  “Oh _fuck_!”

He pushed up inside her, and there was pain, pain that made her cry out and clutch at his back with her nails.  Tears welled in her eyes, and his lower lip wobbled, his hands cupping her face.

“Ssh, sweetheart!” he whispered.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!  Are you alright?”

He kissed the tears from her, murmuring comforting words, and she nodded, nuzzling him with her nose.  The pain had gone, and he was all the way inside her, buried deep.

“I’m okay,” she said.  “I’m okay.”

He kissed her again, hands cradling her face, soft lips pressing against her eyelids and her forehead, and she let herself relax, feeling him there, getting used to him inside her.  He began to move, sliding in and out of her, and it felt incredible, every thrust of his hips grinding against her and sending jolts of sensation through her body.  She pulled her knees a little higher, letting him sink deeper into her, and he groaned, kissing along her jaw to her neck, his tongue swirling over her pulse and making her moan and arch her back.  It felt amazing, this closeness, as though he was a part of her, and she a part of him, and she clutched at his shoulders, pushing her breasts against his chest as they moved together.

Sweat had formed between them, a thin layer making their skin slippery.  She raised her head to kiss his neck, tasting salt on his skin, smelling musk in her nose, his scent making her lightheaded, as though she were drunk on him.  He was thrusting and groaning and she was aroused just by the _sound_ of him: that low, bass rumble from deep in his lungs as he pushed inside her.  His hair was hanging in her face sticky with her juices and the scent of her arousal, and his lips were soft and wet against her throat, her cheeks, her mouth.  His tongue teased hers before trailing down her neck again, and she could feel herself building towards climax, her entire body hot and throbbing and humming from his touch.  She sucked in a breath, and he seemed to sense her need, his pace quickening, his cock hard inside her, rubbing against her and making her let out a strangled moan as she felt it come.  He pushed himself up on the heels of his hands, throwing his head back with a long, low groan of completion, and she felt him pulse inside her, the feel of it sending her over the edge, crying out and clawing at his back as she pumped against him.

He continued to move, sliding in and out of her, but his movements were slower, longer, and after a moment he stopped, letting his head drop and pushing his face into the hollow of her shoulder with a deep, shuddering sigh.  They lay in the darkness for a while, and she listened to the sound of their breathing as it slowed and calmed.  She could feel him inside her, softening and shrinking, an odd sensation, and he pushed himself up on his elbows, his expression somewhat hesitant.

“Hey,” she said, and he blinked.

“I…”  He broke off, licking his lips.  “I did not expect that.  I didn’t bring you here tonight for that.”

Belle reached up to stroke his hair back, watching the strands fall through her fingers, backlit by moonlight.

“I know,” she said softly.  “I know you didn’t.”

She reached up to kiss him, and his mouth grew soft at the touch of her lips, a tiny moan coming from him as his hands sank into her hair.  His tongue stroked slowly against hers, and she wanted him again, wanted to feel the burning pleasure of his touch.  He broke the kiss, his breath growing heavy again, and she let her head fall back against the pillows with a smile.

“Can I stay?” she whispered.  “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Yes.”  He caressed her cheek, the gentle brushing of thumbs against her skin, his fingertips making her shiver.  “I’d like that, Belle.”


	5. Chapter 5

For once in his life, Gold slept well.

It was light when he awoke, and for a moment his sleep-drunk brain couldn’t process the information it was receiving.  Daylight was shining through the thin curtains, bright against his eyelids, and there was a warm pressure at his side, a sweet scent in his nose.  Blinking, he shifted a little, and the events of the previous night came rushing back into his mind.  It hadn’t been a dream, then.  He had had dreams before of a beautiful blue-eyed woman, but those dreams always made him feel sad when he awoke, as though his body was filled with tears he couldn’t seem to shed.

He opened his eyes fully, and focused on Belle’s sleeping face.  Her dark hair was rumpled and messy, her lips full and pink and her cheeks a little flushed, her eyelashes dark crescents against her pale skin.  She looked beautiful, and he wanted to kiss her again.  Pulling back so as not to disturb her, he slipped out of bed and drew on a robe, opening the door and silently making his way downstairs.

He filled the kettle for tea and turned it on without even thinking about it, and then a rush of awareness hit him, enough to make him pitch forward and lean on the counter with his free hand, the other gripping his cane tight enough to hurt.  Having Belle in his bed had been the last thing he had expected when he brought her home to feed her and give her a safe place to stay.  Memories of kissing her, of having her beneath him, of being inside her, swamped his brain, sweeping away all other thoughts, and for a moment he just allowed himself to experience the whole exhilarating, incredible night once again.

They had lain in silence for a while, his fingers gently stroking the soft skin of her back, and she had drifted off to sleep in his arms while he stared up at the ceiling, trying to process what had happened.  He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he had been woken by soft kisses on his chest, and hands running over him, and he had taken her in his arms and made sleepy, languorous love to her once more.

He shouldn’t have done it, of course.  He knew that.  She was young and vulnerable and, as always, he held all the power.  But she was beautiful and scared and fragile, and he had been faced with the unfamiliar feeling of wanting to protect and comfort someone.  And there was that other feeling too.  The feeling that he knew her, even though that was impossible.  Even more terrifying was the certainty that _she_ knew _him_ , to the depths of his blackened soul, and could still look at him with compassion and tenderness in her eyes.  Kissing her had felt so natural, so right, and then his own desires had taken him over and - well, there was no undoing it now.

The kettle boiled, and he flicked it off, pouring water into the pot and wondering how to handle things.  He had offered her the apartment.  It would probably be best to start there.  He shoved away the pleasant, distracting thoughts of what it might be like to have her in his house, in his bed, on a more permanent basis.  She should decide for herself the direction her life should take.

He had set out cups and was just reaching into the fridge for some milk when Belle padded into the kitchen.  She was yawning and rubbing her eyes, his discarded checked shirt draping her slender figure.  She sent him a tired, slightly nervous smile.

“Hey,” she said, and he grinned.

“Hey,” he said gently.  “I was making some tea.  Would you like breakfast?”

She beamed at him.  “I would.”

“I was going to go out to get some pastries from the bakery,” he said.  “If you wanted.”

“That sounds delicious.”

“Tea first, then.”

He carried the pot to the table, and she picked up the cups and took them over, setting them down next to the teapot as he turned to face her.  She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing a little as she looked up at him.  She was standing very close, a hand pressed to her belly, and he reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking over skin as soft as a feather.

“Are you alright?” he asked.  “After - well, after everything.”

“Yes,” she said.  “Fine.  Really, I’m fine.”  She pulled a face.  “A little - I guess a little tender, maybe.”

He dropped his eyes.  “Ah.  I’m sorry.”

“No, no!” she assured him.  “It was wonderful.  Really, it was.  It felt - it felt right, you know?”

“Yes,” he whispered, and bent his head to kiss her.

She rose up on her toes as their lips pressed together, her hands sliding around his waist, and he felt his hunger for her return, burning and seething.  His tongue pushed into her mouth, bringing a moan from her, the taste of her sweet and delicious.  She turned them, until her back was to the table, and he let his cane fall, sliding his hands behind her thighs and picking her up to sit on the edge, the shirt riding up around her hips.  His hands slid up her thighs as she moaned into his mouth, her fingers scraping up his back as she opened her legs a little wider and he pushed in between them.

His heart was pounding, his senses overwhelmed by her scent, her taste, the feel of her hands on him.  His fingers trailed upwards, tugging at the shirt buttons, and Belle moaned as they came open, his hands sliding inside to cup her breasts.  Her thighs gripped his hips, squeezing him, and he groaned into her mouth as his thumbs rubbed over her nipples.  Back arching, she pulled her mouth from his with a tony noise of pleasure, and he kissed down her neck, pushing the shirt open to bare her to his sight.  His tongue swept up her throat, his lips tugging at her earlobe.

“Lie back,” he whispered.  “Lie back, sweetheart.”

She lowered herself back on the tabletop, her hair spreading out on the smooth oak, her belly pulled taut and the dark curls between her thighs glistening with moisture.  He pulled a chair towards him and sat down, sliding his hands up her inner thighs as he began kissing his way up, his tongue stroking over soft skin.

The tea grew cold on the table.

* * *

It was a good hour and a half later that he left the house, washed and shaved and dressed in a three-piece suit over a shirt in dark red silk.  Belle had chosen the colour, lounging on the bed with her feet swinging up behind her.

“I think you’d suit something darker than that other shirt,” she had said, and he had eyed her over his shoulder as he fastened his pants.

“You mean the shirt that you appear to be wearing?” he had asked dryly, and she had grinned.

“Yeah, it’s mine now,” she had said, in an offhand tone that made him want to grin.  “It smells of you.  I may give it back when it doesn’t.”

“It suits you better, anyway,” he had said.  “Keep it.”

The weather was fine for October, and he was enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin as he walked along the main street of Storybrooke.  He was a strange mix of tired and exhilarated, his self-appointed task of giving Belle pleasure without penetration having been an enjoyable distraction.  After he had licked her to a frenzy on the kitchen table, they had gone back to bed and he had done it again, tongue and fingers flickering over her until she was a writhing, moaning tangle of limbs in the cool sheets.  She had finally taken control of the situation by muttering something about not being made of glass, and had pushed him onto his back before straddling him.  He still wasn’t completely convinced that this wasn’t one of his more elaborate whisky-fuelled dreams.

He walked across the road, looking from left to right, and reached the door of Dr Hopper’s office, pulling it open just as a young woman was coming down the stairs with a file in her arms.  She had blonde hair, long curls that bounced around her shoulders, and was wearing a red leather jacket and blue jeans with knee boots.  He had never seen her before in his life.

“Thanks,” she said carelessly, ducking through the door with no more than a glance, and he frowned in puzzlement.   _Two strangers in two days._

Putting the young woman from his mind, he went up the stairs to Dr Hopper’s office, rapping on the door with his knuckles.  Dr Hopper opened it with a welcoming smile on his face, which faded into puzzled uncertainty.

“Mr Gold,” he said.  “I already paid my rent.”

“Oh, I’m not here about the rent,” said Gold quietly.  “May I come in?”

“Of course.”

Dr Hopper stood back, allowing him to enter, and shut the door behind them.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

Gold briefly thought about asking him what he knew about the young woman that had left, but dismissed her presence as unimportant.

“You released a patient from the asylum yesterday,” he said.  “Belle French.”

“I - yes, yes I did,” said Dr Hopper, puzzled.  “How did you know?”

“Because I met her,” said Gold.  “I’ve offered her a place to stay, but before we make anything formal I thought I’d speak with her doctor.”

Dr Hopper looked uncomfortable.

“Mr Gold, patient confidentiality…”

“Oh, I don’t give a crap about that,” said Gold, showing his teeth.  “She doesn’t seem as though she’d be a danger to herself or others.”

“No.”  Dr Hopper put his hands on his hips, nodding.  “No, without going into any details, I would say that’s a fair assessment.”

“Good.”  Gold flexed his fingers on his cane.  “Besides, my question’s about something else.  What interest does the Mayor have in this young woman?”

“The Mayor?”  Dr Hopper blinked rapidly, moving to his desk and shuffling some papers.  “I - I…”

“Dr Hopper, Miss French tells me that you released her, and gave her clothes and money,” said Gold patiently.  “You told her she didn’t belong there.  She also tells me that the Mayor visits on a regular basis and looks through her door.  So my question is, has the Mayor asked you to keep her locked up, and if so why?”

“I - I don’t know,” said Dr Hopper, looking uncomfortable.

“So, that’s a yes,” said Gold, his voice cold.  “And yet you let her go.  Why?”

Dr Hopper hesitated again, pushing his glasses up on his nose with a finger.

“I - well, in all good conscience, I couldn’t keep her there,” he said.  “It - it just - it wasn’t right.”

There was an odd look on his face, an almost dazed expression, as though he was coming out of some sort of altered state, and Gold frowned.

“You wanted to help her,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Good.”  He shook back his hair.  “Then help me.  I intend to keep Miss French safe, and give her a place to live.  I’d appreciate it if you would sign her discharge papers from the hospital, if you haven’t already done so.”

“Right,” said Dr Hopper vaguely.  “Right.  Yes, I can do that.”

“I’d also like it if you didn’t inform the Mayor,” he added, and Dr Hopper winced.

“She has a way of finding these things out,” he said, and Gold nodded.

“Oh, she’ll know soon enough, I’m sure,” he agreed, “but until I find out why she has some sort of vendetta against Miss French, I don’t want her interfering.”

“That’s - that’s easier said than done…”

“If she asks you anything at all,” interrupted Gold.  “Tell her that Miss French is under my protection.  Understood?”

“I - yes, yes of course.”  Dr Hopper was looking puzzled as he took some papers from a file, picking up a pen.  “I don’t - I don’t understand, Mr Gold.  What is she to you?”

Gold hesitated, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. _Someone important._

* * *

Belle had taken a shower and dressed while he was out, so they managed to eat pastries and drink tea in the kitchen without ravishing each other.  He opened the paper bag of cinnamon Danish, and she took one, pulling off a piece of the pastry and popping it in her mouth.  She murmured in pleasure and sucked sugar from her fingers, and he couldn’t help grinning.

“I picked up your discharge papers from Dr Hopper,” he said.  “You don’t have to worry about him changing his mind over your release.”

She looked relieved, and pulled off another piece of pastry to eat.  He poured tea for her, running his eyes over the grey dress she wore.

“We should get you something else to wear,” he observed, and she looked up.

“I have a little money,” she said.  “Although - well, I was hoping to put that towards the rent.”

“We can discuss that later,” he said.  “Besides, I have more clothes in the shop that should fit you.  No need to blow your cash on Storybrooke’s limited choices.”

She smiled at him, and added a little milk to her tea, stirring with a spoon and tapping it against the rim.

“I’d like to see your shop, I think,” she said.

“We’ll go there when we’ve finished this,” he said.  “I keep the rental contracts there too, and there are a lot of things I’d like to show you.”

“Good.”  She sipped her tea, a mischievous look in her eyes.  “I’ve enjoyed everything you’ve shown me so far.”

He smirked, picking up his own tea, and she gave him a wicked grin.

* * *

He decided to walk to the shop, and Belle took his arm as they strolled along, which earned some curious looks from the few townsfolk they passed.

“Tongues will be wagging,” he remarked.

“I don’t care what they say,” said Belle.  “You don’t mind, do you?”

“I’ve never cared what the people in this town think of me, and I’m too old to start now,” he said, and Belle gave him a wry look.

“You’re not old,” she said.  “If you were, you wouldn’t have been able to stay up all night doing those things to me.  And then do more this morning.”

“If I tell you that I feel as though I was hit by a train will that change your charitable opinion on my virility?” he asked, grinning, and she pursed her lips.

“Well, maybe I’ll just have to test it again,” she said, and pulled him into an alley, turning to face him.  “Kiss me.”

His grin widened, and he bent to kiss her, one hand sliding into her hair.  She opened her mouth for him, pressing her body against his, and he could feel himself harden again in response to her.  He pulled his mouth free, kissing down her neck, and Belle moaned in pleasure.

“Touch me,” she whispered, and he hesitated.

“Turn around,” he breathed, and she turned her back, gasping as his hand slid beneath her skirt, running up her leg to brush the seam of her panties.  He glanced at the mouth of the alleyway, but there was no one passing.  No one to see what they were doing.  He bit down on the soft skin at the nape of her neck, and Belle let out a cry, and his finger slipped inside her panties, brushing against wet skin.

“Hey!  Get the hell away from her, you creep!”

A woman’s voice, sharp and angry, cut through his rising bliss, and he wrenched his head around.  It was the woman he had seen coming out of Dr Hopper’s office, still in her red leather jacket, her shoulders a little hunched, her fists clenched, as though she wanted to punch him.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” he snapped, and the woman glared at him.

“Emma Swan,” she said.

It was like a punch in the gut, and he almost staggered. _Emma. EmmaEmmaEmmaEmmaEmmaEmmaEm…_ He tried to catch his breath, memories returning to him in a wave, a torrent, a _flood_.  The Saviour’s name was Emma.  She was here.   _Bae.  Oh Gods, Bae!  And Belle.  She’s real.  She’s alive._ Dimly, he was aware that Miss Swan was still speaking.

“From the descriptions people give me, I’m guessing you’re Mr Gold,” she was saying.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing to this girl?”

“Woman,” said Belle coldly.  “I’m not a bloody child.  And he was doing exactly what I wanted him to until you came along, thanks.”

_Gods, she’s beautiful!  And brave.  My Belle.  She’s alive!  I can’t believe she’s alive!_

“Oh.”  Miss Swan straightened up, settling back on her heels.  “Oh, right.  Sorry, I just thought…”

“You thought wrong,” said Belle.  “Do you mind?  This was kind of a private moment.”

“You’re in a public place,” said Miss Swan, a note of censure in her voice.  “Maybe you should take yourselves off somewhere more private if you want to do that.”

“Did you become Mayor of this town when I wasn’t looking?” he rasped, and he could hear the tremor in his voice.  No doubt Miss Swan - the Saviour - merely thought him frustrated by the intrusion.  The truth was that rage was drenching him, drowning him, enough to make him want to burn the town to the ground and scatter its ashes to the four winds.   _Regina.  She told me Belle was_ dead!   _All these years, all that time we could have had.  Oh, she’ll pay!_

“Look, you have homes to go to, right?” said Miss Swan.  “Just - I don’t know - maybe get a room?”

“An excellent idea.”  He straightened, removing his hand from beneath Belle’s skirt and smoothing it over her hips.  “Perhaps we should go, Belle.”

Belle shot Miss Swan a frosty look, and he put his arm around her waist, drawing her gently with him as he set off towards the shop.  His mind was reeling, his emotions in turmoil, the dominant among them loss and fear and burning rage.  If Belle picked up on his mood, she didn’t say anything, merely keeping pace until they reached the shop, whereupon he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, letting them in.

She began walking slowly around, her eyes darting from object to object, and he watched her with a tiny smile on his face.   _Belle.  How could I have forgotten her.  How could I have forgotten my son?  The two good things in my wretched life, reduced to little more than fragments of dreams.  Still, the price had to be paid, and I paid it._

“Belle. I have to go out for awhile,” he said.  “Will you be okay to wait here while I’m gone?  I shouldn’t be anymore than half an hour.”

She turned on the balls of her feet, dark curls swinging, and smiled.

“There’s so much here for me to look at,” she said.  “I’ll be fine.”

She was so beautiful it made him want to cry, and he felt his mouth tremble as he blinked back tears.   _All those years.  All that time we could have had, if only I’d known._  She put her head to the side, her brow crinkling.

“Are you okay?” she asked.  “You seem - upset about something.”

He glanced at the floor, swallowing hard, and then back up again, flicking back his hair and giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I’m fine,” he said.  “I just remembered something that I have to do.  Will you lock the door behind me?”

She nodded, trotting over to twine her arms around his neck, and kissed him gently.  He kissed her back, his lips pulling at hers. _Gods, I love you, Belle.  I love you so much._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! This was honestly just supposed to be a smutty one-shot, but you know what I'm like. Very minor suicide mention in this chapter.

He asked about Miss Swan at the diner, when he finally collected the rent from a frowning Mrs Lucas.  The fact that she was Henry’s birth mother almost made him laugh out loud; to think that he had procured the boy at Regina’s request, thereby contributing to her downfall, was immensely satisfying.  It didn’t quell his anger over what had been done to Belle, though.  He strode quickly to the town hall, his fury rising with every limping step.  There was no magic in this realm, not yet anyway, but he could feel the need for it burning through him, the desire to summon flames from the ether and burn Regina to ash for what she’d done.

His swift pace made his leg hurt, and he cursed his own fragility, unfamiliar after centuries of a body made whole by dark magic.  Being fully human again was - disappointing.  He slowed his pace as he reached the town hall, dropping back into his usual gait, his breath slowing.  Wanting to maintain Mr Gold’s air of calm, cold politeness, he made sure to ask for an audience with the Mayor, but after being told that she was busy he walked into her office anyway, shutting the door in the face of the stammering assistant.

“Madam Mayor,” he said.

Regina raised her head from whatever she was doing, her pen stilling.  He smiled.

“I trust this isn’t a bad time?” he said pleasantly.

“Mr Gold.”  Regina tapped her pen against the papers on her desk.  “I’d say good afternoon, but your appearance in my office would suggest otherwise.”

His grin widened.

“I understand that the town’s new arrival has been making something of a nuisance of herself where you’re concerned,” he said.  “Mrs Lucas informs me that you had her arrested on some trumped-up charge that no one believes.  Sounds reckless and vindictive enough to be a scheme of your making.”

Regina put down her pen, flicking back her dark hair and pursing deep red lips.

“Normally I’d enjoy whatever pointless power play you wanted to indulge in, but I’m a little busy right now.”

“Oh, this’ll only take a moment,” he said easily.

He took a seat, fingers curling around the cane handle.  Regina gave him a cold stare.

“Make it quick,” she said, and he smirked.

“You keep a gun in your desk drawer,” he said, and her brow creased in puzzlement.

“So?  I’ve no doubt you have one in your shop.  I have a permit.”

“Take it out of the drawer,” he said.  “Please.”

Regina immediately reached into the drawer for the gun.  Her eyes widened as she realised what she’d done, and his smile stretched a little, a baring of teeth.

“Let me see it, please,” he said, and she lifted it up, the short barrel shining in the light.

“Look, Gold, if this is some sort of attempt to be threatening…”

“Please don’t point it at me,” he interrupted.

She turned the barrel of the gun away from him, towards the wall of the office, her hand shaking.

“Take off the safety,” he added.  “Please.”

“Gold…”  She clicked off the safety, her breathing quickening as panic seemed to rise in her.  It made him want to laugh.

“Now,” he said quietly.  “Put the barrel against your head.  Please.”

Regina licked her lips, her eyes wide with terror.  Her hand was shaking almost uncontrollably as she pressed the gun barrel to her temple.

“What - what do you want?” she whispered.  “How are you doing this?”

“You know how,” he said coldly.  “It was the deal we made, wasn’t it, dearie?”

She mouthed the word, shaking her head a little.

“I don’t understand…”

“ _Yes you do_ ,” he hissed menacingly.  “The deal where I gave you the answers you sought, to cast the curse you wanted so badly.  The deal where I exchanged one cage for another, and let you take everyone to a world where you call all the shots.  Except for this one tiny caveat.”

He held up thumb and forefinger, a hair’s breadth apart.  Regina curled her lip at him, dark eyes flashing, and he admired her bravery.  But then she had always fought when backed into a corner.

“I don’t have time for this!” she snapped.

“You’ll make time.”  He smiled again.  “Say my name.”

She looked around wildly, as if someone would appear and come to her aid.

“You’re - you’re Mr Gold.”

“Don’t act more foolish than you are,” he snapped.  “Say my name.  My true name.  Please.”

Regina swallowed, blinking rapidly.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she whispered, and he let the corner of his mouth pull upwards.

“Wonderful,” he said softly.

“You remember!” she breathed.  “How?  How is that even possible?”

Gold smiled, adjusting his grip on the handle of his cane.

“Well, that’s not important,” he said.  “I’m really more interested in hearing your explanation for why you told me that the woman I love was dead.”

She looked terrified at his words, at the confirmation that he knew the secrets she had kept from him for so long, and it made his inner darkness surge up through his body, the cursed entity within him recognising the desire to kill, to tear, to _flay_.

“I could have - I could have killed her, Gold,” she stammered.  “But I didn’t.  She’s alive and - and _safe_ because of me.”

“In spite of you, you mean,” he snarled.  “You took her prisoner, and you told me she was dead.  You kept her locked in a cell for _decades_ , because you thought you might find a use for her one day.  You planned to kill her when her death would be of most advantage to you.  You kept her alive to use against me, and I will never, ever forget that, do you understand me?”

She was breathing rapidly, almost panting, her chest heaving and her eyes wide, and he gave her his most unpleasant smile.

“Put your finger on the trigger,” he said softly.  “Please.”

“Rumple!”

She shot him a pleading look as her finger slid onto the trigger of the gun, and he fell silent for a moment, watching her, almost able to _smell_ the fear on her.

“I could have you pull that trigger,” he said quietly.  “I could have you shoot yourself with your own gun and Storybrooke would wonder why the Mayor, who seemed to have everything she could want, would kill herself.”

Her breath was almost whistling through her lungs, and he eased back in his chair a little.

“But I won’t,” he said.  “I won’t, because I want to see the look on your face when the Saviour breaks the curse and undoes everything you’ve done.  I want to see it when the rest of this town gets their memories back, and hunts you down to tear you to pieces.  I want to see you crawl to me and beg me for help, and when that day comes, you may just be dependent on the forgiving nature of the woman you imprisoned, do you understand?”

She nodded rapidly, and he waved a hand.

“Put the gun back in the drawer, please,” he said, in a bored voice.

Regina sagged with relief, her chest heaving as she stowed the gun back in the desk drawer, her hand shaking almost too much to close it again.  She raised her head with a venomous look, and Gold held up a hand.

“For the avoidance of doubt after this little exhibition,” he said, “should it be within your power, you are never to cause or allow any harm to come to myself or Belle.  Please.  Do you understand?”

She glowered at him, but nodded stiffly, and he returned the nod.

“Excellent,” he said, getting to his feet.

A flash of movement made him glance over her head, out of the window.  Miss Swan was marching across the grass towards Regina’s beloved apple tree, a chainsaw in her hands, and he bit back a grin.

“I’ll leave you to decide how to handle things with Miss Swan,” he said.  “She seems a determined character.  Have fun with that, won’t you?”

He walked out with as much swagger as his inner fury would allow, the Dark One snarling in the back of his mind as he went. 

* * *

The encounter with Regina had left him unsatisfied, almost weary, his rage still seething just beneath the surface.  The Dark One in him wanted to kill her, but Regina would still prove useful.  It would be she that would spur the Saviour into breaking the curse on the town, so for the moment he needed her alive.  Besides, it was Belle that had been wronged, and he supposed that Regina’s punishment was her call to make.  If the townsfolk didn’t take care of that matter for him, of course.  His leg was agony by the time he got to the shop, and he embraced the pain, drinking it down, feeding on it.

Belle wasn’t in the main room of the shop when he entered, and so he locked the door behind him and went through to the back room.  She glanced over her shoulder as he entered, her hand on the spinning wheel that had spent decades covered with an old shawl.  He wanted to cry at the sight of her.  So beautiful.  And still lost to him, in some ways.  Still with no memory of what he felt for her, or she for him.  No memory of what he had done.  Of how he had driven her away.

“All done?” she asked, and he nodded.

“All done,” he said.  “I’m sorry, something urgent came up.”

“That’s okay, I was looking at your book collection.”  She grinned at him.  “I may want to borrow a few, just so you know.”

“Help yourself.”  He went to fill the small kettle with water.  “How about some tea?”

“I’d love some.”

She sat down on the small cot with a thump, folding her hands in her lap, and he switched on the kettle and busied himself with getting out cups and saucers and spooning loose tea into the silver pot.  He could feel Belle watching him, and he poured boiling water into the pot, letting the hinged lid fall with a clink before turning to face her.

“Tell me about the sorcerer,” he said quietly, and her eyebrows shot up.

“The sorcerer?” she asked.  “My dreams, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Belle pursed her lips, her feet poised on her toes, swinging back and forth.

“Well, I had a lot of dreams about him,” she said.  “Very powerful, with magic in his fingers, things appearing out of plumes of red smoke.  He could - he could spin straw into gold thread, like in the fairy tale.”

“Like Rumplestiltskin,” he said, and she nodded.

“It’s kind of hazy at times,” she admitted.  “Mostly it’s - I don’t know - shadows and warmth.  But sometimes I can _see_ him.  Golden scales and curly hair and lots of leather.  Kind of - well, kind of sexy, actually.”

He didn’t have to hold back his surprised look, and she giggled, her eyes glinting mischievously.

“Honestly some of the dreams got a little - intimate,” she said.  “Like I could feel him touching me.  I never liked telling Dr Hopper about those, it always felt - weird.  Like the other dreams were real, but those ones weren’t, I can’t explain it...”

_True dreams, not memories.  Gods, she’s breathtaking!_

He stepped forward, running his hand over the curve of the wheel.  The feel of it snatched him back to the Enchanted Forest, to the Dark Castle and the library there, spinning endless skeins of gold thread as Belle sat curled in a chair, a book in her lap.  She tilted her head to the side.

“Can you spin?” she asked playfully.

“Yes.”

She blinked, clearly not expecting him to answer in the affirmative.

“I can’t spin straw into gold,” he added.  “Not in this realm, anyway.  Not without magic.”

“No.”  She gave him a look of amusement.  “No, I suppose that would be kind of impossible.”

“But give me a basket of wool, and I’ll spin you thread so fine it’ll feel like brushed silk on your skin,” he said quietly.

Belle felt her heart thump at his words.  There was honesty there, sincerity.  He meant it.  He really could spin.  And there were other emotions, too.  Deep, deep sorrow.  Loss.  Guilt.  She could understand none of it.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, and he sighed, flexing his fingers on his cane handle.

"You like my books," he said, and she nodded.

"Of course."

"Some fanciful tales in there," he observed.  "Happy endings and sad losses.  Noble knights and warrior women."

"Some say all the old stories are true," she said, and he smiled faintly.

“Then let me tell you another,” he said quietly, and she raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the serious look on his face, as though he were steeling himself for something.

“I’d - I’d like to hear it,” she said, and he nodded, his mouth twisting a little.

“Once upon a time, there was a monster,” he began.  “A monster who was once a man.  He had lived for hundreds of years, consumed by one wish, one desire.  To get back to the son he loved.  The son he had betrayed.”

He ducked his head, as though he were somehow ashamed, unable to meet her gaze, and Belle wanted to touch him, to comfort him.

“Why…”  She shook her head.  “Why did you say the monster was _once_ a man?  What happened to him?”

“He made a deal he didn’t understand,” said Gold wearily.  “He thought, by making that deal, his son would be saved.  That all the child soldiers of the war would be saved.  And so they were.  For a time.”

“What happened?”

“He was cursed,” said Gold.  “The darkest of curses.  He became the Dark One, an enemy of the light, and of love.  The curse - it twisted him.   Physically at first, and then - then in every way imaginable.  No matter his intentions, it twisted everything he touched.  His son - his son tried to save him, to take him to a place where he couldn’t hurt anyone, but the monster wouldn’t go.”

“Why not?” asked Belle softly, and Gold’s mouth twisted.

“Because he was afraid,” he whispered.  “Because he’s always been afraid.  All his life, he wanted to be good, to be something - better.  But he was too weak.  Too cowardly.”

“Fear isn’t cowardice,” she said.

“It was in this instance.”

Belle sighed.

“That’s a sad story,” she said.  “I’d like to think that he found his son, and that he was forgiven.”

“Well, things did get a little better,” he conceded.  “It took years of searching to find a way to cross realms to the place his son had fled.  He was close, so close to achieving his aim, and then…”  His eyes glinted.  “Then, a woman came.”

“Who was she?” asked Belle, and he smiled, a far-off look in his eyes.

“A knight’s daughter,” he said.  “Noble born, with all the privilege that comes with it, but pure of heart, and as brave as she was beautiful.  She offered herself as servant to the monster in exchange for his help in stopping the ogres that had waged war on their lands.”

“Servant, hmm?”  She gave him a wry look, and he grinned.

“Yes, a servant,” he said.  “Oh, she became far more than that, of course.  He fell desperately in love with her, and would make the flowers bloom to see her smile.”

“That sounds decidedly un-monster-like.”

“And he gave her an entire library,” he added, and she giggled.

“That sounds like the perfect wedding present, actually,” she said.  “Tell me that he declared his undying love and they got married and lived happily ever after.”

He smiled, a tiny, sad smile tinged with genuine amusement.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Why?”  She pouted, and Gold grinned.

“Because as well as being a powerful dark being, he was also a bloody idiot.”

“You know, this monster is sounding more like a man every minute,” she said dryly, and he laughed.

“Well, perhaps it’s not too late for him,” he said, turning to pour the tea.  “Perhaps he can start over.  Make things right with his son, and the woman he loves.”

“That sounds like a much better ending,” she said.

Tea poured in an amber stream, and he added just the right amount of milk, handing hers to her.  She got to her feet, setting the cup on the bench beside the cot, and stepping close to run her hands up his chest.  He stiffened slightly at her touch, as though he was pulling away from her, and she slid her hands down and around his waist to tug him against her.  He looked sad and weary, as though the past day had taken all the calm strength from him and replaced it with the weight of countless years of loneliness and despair.  She hugged him closer, and he heaved a sigh, relaxing into her as though some of his melancholy would flow out with the touch of her hands and the feel of her breath.

“What’s upset you?” she whispered.  “And don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

His arms went around her, one hand sliding up into her hair, and he pressed a kiss to her neck, inhaling deeply.

“My past is a difficult thing to face,” he said, the words rumbling against her skin.  “But I have to face it.  I have to face it, and trust that those I love are far better people than I could ever hope to be.”

He pulled back, cupping her face with his hands and pressing a kiss to her forehead.  She felt a tingle go through her, an odd sensation, almost as though sparks were dancing on her skin.  It lingered for a moment, and was gone as quickly as it had arrived, but the feel of it made her catch her breath.  She licked her lips, and he smiled, a touch of regret in his eyes.

“Not quite,” he whispered, and she raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

Gold shook his head, kissing her forehead again.  This time the tingle didn’t come, but she could almost sense it floating around her.  Waiting for something.  He pressed his brow to hers as he nuzzled her.

“I love you,” he said softly.  “And I have no right to ask, but I need your help.”

“To do what?” she asked, and he smiled.

“To find my son.”


End file.
